Blog 4: Home at Last

Looking back, I often think about and am haunted by my immigration experience at Darwin. But most haunting is my memory of the quiet little dark-haired girl in the white dress. Just before our group left the processing centre that day I spotted her again, walking down a dirt path. She stopped and we looked at each other without expression for a long moment. Just as she turned to walk away, a hesitant smile crossed her face as she raised her hand and waved. I think often of that quiet little girl and try to imagine what became of her. It pains my mind and heart that I can never learn her fate, because I never even knew her name. There are chapters in life that must be seen and felt by the heart to be truly absorbed and once fully understood have the power to fundamentally and forever change us. For me, that chapter was my journey of migration, full of burning hope and bitter despair.

But now I have begun a new chapter in my life, in Australia. It is the here that I experienced for the first time, the sparkling taste of Coca-Cola, the crisp pastry and succulent filling of an Aussie meat pie, and the atmosphere of true democracy that Vietnam does not possess. That meat pie may only be worth a few dollars, but it was priceless to me because it was a representation of a new life and a new beginning after so many years of yearning and suffering. 

I have included a cartoon, created in 2002 (Source D) which represents that even when I somehow got through all those years of heartache, I then had to start again facing all forms of injustice, repression and tyranny. A new job, a new home, a new start, a new life.


- Helen Huynh

Blog 3: The Girl in the White Dress

It was my turn, and my fate would soon be known. But the interview was a quick one. It only lasted ten minutes. Was that good or bad? As we roamed about, waiting for the news that would effectively determine our destiny, I spotted a beautiful young girl in a clean white dress standing quietly by herself. She backed away as I approached, but before long agreed to a photo with me (Source C). Her voice was soft and quiet. She didn't smile. She was a small seven year old. I asked if her parents were also in the with her. She didn't answer immediately, but eventually built up the courage to quietly and unemotionally utter "I don't know where her parents are." My throat tied in a knot. When I looked down at her innocent little face and started to ask another question, my words wouldn't come out.

Then, a monstrous shout raptured my eardrum. The government attorney began listing name after name, in which I was hollered. Instructed to board the 4x4, our little jeep wound its way through outskirts of Darwin. Driving down the sandy road, I pondered and cursed the distant political forces that brought me, the little girl, and the thousands of other people to this place. A few minutes later we arrived at the small pier. It was here where we were informed that our application of settlement in Australia had been accepted and our journey down to Sydney would begin.

In a place like Australia where every person's prayer is to someday live, I feel guilty that we, people who had faced the same adversities and hardships as all the others, would be the only passengers on the only boat departing that day. After formalities and handshakes with the government's attorneys the boat's motor gushed to life and we slowly pulled away. Standing on the deck, I strained to see anyone. They were hidden behind the trees, just as their pain was hidden from worldview. As the city disappeared into the horizon, my long wave went unseen. Finally, as it slipped from view, I contemplated the lives of the thousands of people who didn't know whether Darwin would be their first stop on the road to freedom, or their last.

- Helen Huynh

Blog 2: The Next Challenge

Leaving a thick trail of oily diesel smoke across the polished sea, our noisy boat continued to violate nature's serenity as it stumbled toward a wooden dock. At last, after exhausting days and nights hopelessly waiting for a miracle, the boat finally arrived at Darwin, located in the central Northern tip of Australia. I would never have believed until now that I would actually be standing here in this charming country in which I could call home. People screamed in overwhelming joy, and children rushed towards the deck hoping to fill their stomachs after days without food.

But suddenly, Royal Australian Navy personnel who had served on border protection approached us. They informed us that they had the difficult job alongside government attorneys of determining which of these Vietnamese 'boat people' would qualify for refugee status and possible resettlement in Australia. My heart sank. We had risked everything in the belief that our new lives would begin in Australia. We had already passed the difficult test of getting to Darwin. We had rolled the dice on a dangerous ocean voyage and won. It is evident in the included newspaper article published by 'The Age' in 2009 (Source B) that despite all adversity we persevered, and it didn't matter to the Australia government one bit because in their eyes we were the intruders who were not worthy to seek refuge in their country. Even though they encouraged the welcoming of all Vietnamese affected by war, it was the Fraser government who began the false divide between the 'unauthorised' arrivals of asylum seekers by boat and 'legitimate' refugees who came by plane or where in overseas camps. Those unable to prove themselves political refugees under the Australian government definition, or with no close relatives in Australia to sponsor them, faced a bleak future. 

After our briefing, a security truck, with red lights flashing, led our jeep to a nearby shelter. It was here where the serious business of casting fates was being conducted. A government representative, in this case an attorney, interviewed each person who arrived, soon determining whether an applicant's qualifications for resettlement could be met. That crucial decision made all the difference for thousands of people. Since the Vietnamese war, increasing numbers of applicants were found to be economic migrants, technically not refugees, and therefore they did not qualify for resettlement in Australia. The interview sometimes lasted for more than an hour. Sixty percent of the time, the decision made was unfavourable because we were classified as 'queue jumpers'.


-Helen Huynh

Blog 1: A Quest for Freedom

The boat silently departed in the eerie darkness of the late October night in 1979, hoping to reach Australia. On board were over one hundred Vietnamese people of all ages, some disheartened, but most happy... and brimming with hope that they would reach the Promised Land. This vigorous escape left us vulnerable, and the challenges we would soon encounter were enormous; however, it displayed our burning determination to leave the corrupt practices of communism behind us. 

Morning came to commence a beautiful day. The sky was cloudless and sunlit. The gentle waves slightly rocked the boat, but nevertheless, we continued to sail at full speed. We all knew now, that there was no going back. Either we would make it to Australia, or die somewhere in the vast and unforgiving sea. Fear of the uncertainty and the unknown lingered in my mind. Were we heading in the right direction? Would we survive or would we be hit by a storm? Where would we end up? The diary entry of a Vietnamese boat person written in 1981 (Source A) details a distressing and menacing journey, just like mine, from a war torn Vietnam to a harmonious Australia. Their experiences are close to my heart because they are a reminder of the struggle that me and so many of my people endured to start a new life, free of war and bloodshed.  

On the third day of my voyage to the Promised Land, dark clouds hung over our heads and strong winds blew against the tiny wooden boat. The calm ocean became increasingly violent with aggressive waves that pushed our boat far off course. There was no sight of land, nothing except a boundless body of water. And things got worse, when we ran out of food. Raw fish have become our main source of nourishment, but even that was rare. Children were whining for food while their parents sat there, impotently. These agitated, innocent kids did not know what had happened to them, or why they had been put on a boat, travelling thousands of kilometres from their 'home'. Maybe the assurance of a mouth-watering meat pie after these struggles could lift their spirits? A child in tears asked her mother, "When are we going home?" And nothing was as painful than to realise that they did not have a home. The communists had taken theirs. After weeks, the trip had weakened everyone's health. Our clothes were damp and our spirits were down. Why was freedom so hard to find? 


- Helen Huynh